


oh please, say to me, you'll let me be your man

by royal_chandler



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/royal_chandler/pseuds/royal_chandler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You skirt your thumb along his blue veins but you don’t skirt around your words, <i>we are not backing out again</i>, you say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	oh please, say to me, you'll let me be your man

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on my tumblr so some people may have already read it but I want it on here as well because I do like it a lot. 
> 
> For some reason the titles of the stories for these two refuse to be properly capitalized. This one is borrowed from "I Want to Hold Your Hand" by the Beatles.

The two of you have been together for nearly two years when your publicists finally agree on a timing and give the okay. That night James drums his fingers on the edge of the bathroom sink, a nervous habit for when he’s wanting for a fix. He’s gone about five months without—the longest he's been ‘on’ for this stop and start thing—always leaving empty nicorette foil packages around the house for you to find.

You quiet the terse pattern, slip behind James skin to skin and place your hand over pale knuckles. You skirt your thumb along his blue veins but you don’t skirt around your words, _we are not backing out again_ , you say. 

He curses but there’s no fire behind it. It’s a tired argument on its first try which you’re grateful for because you’re not in the mood for this fight, can’t summon the energy to battle his insecurities. Not tonight. You won’t relinquish this new hope in your chest, that’s tucked behind your ribs like a new set of lungs. You will hold on to it until you’ve slept, until you have had your fucking breakfast at least. 

You find his eyes in the clearing mirror and see everything that’s in his head, his reasoning. It’s the middle of awards season and you’ve nabbed the Globe and the SAG. You try your best not to pay attention to the media's hype, flip off the access shows, but you can't evade everything. There's frontrunner buzz. Journalists and supposed experts are already picking you clean, their microscopes roving over every film that you’ve done, every cue you’ve ever taken—the praise you once yearned for will be flesh off bones if you don’t win. James is _James_ and knows that better than anyone, and he has this _heart_ , gives you a case of affection that you can’t swallow past. He wants this for you because you’re in everything together. Nearly.

You’re allowed to exchange banter about the newest Walking Dead spinoff with his kid on a video call, send his grandmother a birthday gift, show up over holiday but he’s caught on this labeling—a point of reference. It’s a word, a fucking word and you can’t afford to think on it too hard because that train of thought will gape you as a wide as a wound although being on the other side of assurance is something you’re still not quite used to. It’s not a question of love. James bleeds it. It’s the matter of a history that James expected to be forever. You imagine that it’s torturous, having to retrace where you’ve already been with a new partner, praying that the dance doesn’t end on the same misstep. You ache for him in a way that makes you think that this will be forever. It’s something like hell. Love always is, you suppose.

 _It’s a formality_ , you tell him and then wrap your hand around him low, your chin over his shoulder. The groans you break free sound like respite, he eases back into you, and lets you steal him. In his ear, you whisper that your dream isn’t getting the trophy, not any longer. The dream is him on your arm, his name in your acceptance speech. He’s your best friend and there’s no one who means more, nothing means more. You put it on repeat until he comes apart, until he settles into even breaths at your side. You say it over and over again until he gets that it’s the only repeat that counts. You’re not here for easy, you’re here for him.


End file.
